


echoing footsteps

by theappleppielifestyle



Series: going on a ride [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, sarah takes in a lot of strays, the stark family put the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:56:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn’t come over to Tony’s often.</p>
<p>It’s a little bit because he feels dwarfed in the house- okay, mansion, come on, he might as well admit it- and a bit because he’s afraid he’ll break something if he breathes wrong. But it’s mostly because Tony’s house- mansion- is as empty as it is big.</p>
            </blockquote>





	echoing footsteps

Steve doesn’t come over to Tony’s often.

It’s a little bit because he feels dwarfed in the house- okay, mansion, come on, he might as well admit it- and a bit because he’s afraid he’ll break something if he breathes wrong. But it’s mostly because Tony’s house- mansion- is as empty as it is big.

The rooms all seem to span out endlessly, a neverending tangle of hallways and unused guest rooms. It looks like one of those homes in magazines, the ones Steve thought he’d never get close to and now never wants to: all polished floors and minimalist furniture and TVs that go along the entire wall.

It’s a nice place, objectively. But it doesn’t look like anyone’s home, let alone Tony’s. Until Steve gets to Tony’s room, he’s almost ready to believe no-one else has ever stepped foot on any of these floors.

But Tony’s room is like taking a breath after being kept underwater for a long time, and Steve can’t stop the grin.

Tony’s talking, trying to be dismissive and throwing his jacket somewhere near the door they just came through, apologizing for the mess, but Steve is too busy looking over everything. It’s half a bedroom, half a workshop- there’s a desk as big as Tony’s bed in the corner, cluttered with metal and heavy with scorch marks. There are a pair of plastic safety goggles hanging off a chair in front of it, and Steve sincerely hopes he wears them, along with the gloves strewn across the desk.

"Your room," Steve says, and Tony stops talking. Steve pauses, trying to find the right word and going with, "It’s, uh. It's very… you."

Tony blinks before huffing out a laugh. “Is that a good thing?”

"It’s a very good thing," Steve tells him, leaning in so their noses skim. Then he stops. "Tony."

"Steven," Tony says, sounding annoyed they aren’t kissing already. 

"Is that a robot waving at me."

Tony turns, frowning. He makes a face. “Oh, that’s just DUM-E.”

"DUM-E," Steve repeats slowly. He stares at it. It’s… an arm, basically, a robot arm that chirps happily in their direction, and Steve wonders what someone else would do in this situation before raising a hand and waving back at it. Him. 

DUM-E waves back, more frantic than ever, and Steve chuckles and goes over to it, rolling his eyes when Tony mutters something about making out and follows him.

"I finished him a couple months ago," Tony says distractedly as DUM-E beeps at Steve before wheeling an inch so the camera is nestled in Tony’s chest. Tony pushes at it gently, exasperated. "Oh no you don’t, you fiend, you’re hogging Steve, don’t expect that upgrade tomorrow."

DUM-E whirs sadly, and Steve smothers a laugh with his hand as Tony sighs loudly. “I mean it. Don’t make that face at me, DUM-E, you- hey.”

His claw is now grabbing Steve’s shirt, chirping sadly, and Tony says, “He’s not going to change my mind, god, you are a tragedy, DUM-E, you’re a-“

Steve is laughing unabashedly by now, giggling as he watches his boyfriend argue with a robot arm that he is obviously fond of. He watches Tony’s expression go from annoyed to offended as he realizes Steve’s laughing at him, and Steve can’t have that, so he pulls Tony towards him and kisses him, DUM-E beeping in the background.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds before Tony is pulling back, muttering, “Probably shouldn’t traumatize the little guy, he isn’t-“

DUM-E’s beeping turns from sad to urgent, and Steve glances back at him before he hears someone clear their throat and he looks up to see the man who must be Howard Stark standing in the doorway.

The resemblance is unmistakable- the hair, the shape of his face, and the eyes, even though Howard’s lacking something where Tony has it. Steve supposes it’s age, or life experience, but it doesn’t sit right with him. It’s like Howard’s missing some light where Tony is spilling everywhere with it.

"Howard," Tony says, voice thin and reedy and sounding younger than ever before he clears his throat. "Uh, Dad. You’re- in my room. Why are you in my room, you don’t go to my room, you get Jarvis to do it."

Steve looks at him, his chest stinging at what Tony’s said, but Tony doesn’t notice. Steve suddenly feels less friendly to the man in the doorway, less than he had before, anyway.

"Jarvis said you had a friend over," Howard answers eventually, eyes going over Steve.

Self-conciously, Steve goes through what he’s wearing- shoes from Costco, hand-me-down backpack, ripped jeans, t-shirt that he probably should have thrown out last year. The jacket, though, with the lettering spelling out Howling Commandos, he’s all too proud of.

"Ye-ah," Tony says slowly. "And I understand that’s a rare occurrence in itself, but that isn’t something to make the whole journey over to my room."

"I thought I’d come and see who you keep company with," Howard says, finally tearing his eyes from Steve and looking at his son. Steve doesn’t see anything different in his gaze than when he was looking at him.

Tony makes a flourish with his hands, towards Steve and then around his room. “Well, you saw him. Steve, meet Howard. Howard, this is Steve. Glad you guys met each other, bye Dad.”

Then he’s pulling Steve away, past Howard and down the hall. Steve half expects to hear Howard calling down to them, but the only sound is their shoes on the polished floor and Tony’s breathing, which is harder than it should be.

 

 

 

 

They go sit out on the grass, and Steve pulls tufts of it out with the hand that isn’t holding Tony’s and waits for him to say something.

It’s pretty much what he expected.

"He saw us, didn’t he?"

Steve looks at Tony, the downcast eyes, how he’s using his fingernail to scratch at the dirt. “Yeah,” Steve says, trying for light. Casual. Comforting. “I think so.”

Tony continues to scratch, and Steve shifts closer, so their shoulders are brushing. “Is it okay that he saw us?”

Tony shrugs. “He’s not,” he says, and his mouth works wordlessly for a while before he says, “He’s not, like, a crazed ‘phobe, but he isn’t… okay with it, no.”

Unsure of what to do, Steve squeezes his hand, and Tony continues.

"He’s not going to confront me about it, or anything," Tony says, eyes on the grass. "We’re not that kind of family." 

Steve hesitates. “Is your mom okay with it?”

"Mom’s probably in Mumbai right now," Tony says, and then corrects himself: "Or China. I don’t know. She might call me, if Howard gets someone to tell her about this. She’s- she talks to me more. Sometimes."

Steve gets the feeling Tony doesn’t talk to either of his parents a lot, if Howard had never been to see his own son’s room. He’s never met Ms. Stark- Maria, Tony had said once- but from Tony’s voice, he guesses he’s more fond of her than he is of Howard. 

Tony snorts, pulling up grass. “It’s not like Howard could be more disappointed in me, so. There’s that.”

Steve wants to say,  _I’m sure that’s not true,_  but it sticks in his throat and he doesn’t know if he can say it without it coming out as flimsy as wet paper.

He doesn’t know how to do this, how to do any of this, he’s never been good with other people’s parents, much less ones who seem distant at best and don’t even seem to care much for each other, nevermind their son. Maria might, Steve thinks. Tony’s ducked out to take her call once or twice since Steve’s hung out with him, and Tony always seems fine when he comes back, smiling, even.

He thinks of his own mother, who works herself to the bone and somehow manages to love Steve more than the world, and tells him this on a daily basis. Thinks of how she spares some of it for Tony, now, and how Tony’s been getting less stiff when Sarah pats his hand or kisses his forehead.

"We could go to my house," Steve suggests, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Tony to say, "God, yes, it’s a million times better than this shithole," in one big breath and yank him to his feet.

When they arrive, Steve pulls his mother away and explains the situation quickly and quietly. Sarah nods like it’s nothing, and then swats his head and asks why he didn’t hang out the washing this morning why he was supposed to.

During dinner- watered-down soup and bread- Sarah casually drops into the conversation, “Oh, and Tony, I just wanted you to know you can come over anytime,” and continues eating.

Tony’s hand tightens on his spoon, but his smile is genuine, albeit small, when he thanks her.

Under the table, Steve squeezes his hand.


End file.
